Martin, George R.R. - The Sandkings

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SANDKINGS

By George R.R. Martin

Simon Kress lived alone in a sprawling manor house among dry, rocky hills fifty kilometers from

the city. So, when he was called away unexpectedly on business, he had no neighbors he could

conveniently impose on to take his pets. The carrion hawk was no problem; it roosted in the unused

belfry and customarily fed itself anyway. The shambler Kress simply shooed outside and left to

fend for itself; the little monster would gorge on slugs and birds and rock jocks. But the fish

tank, stocked with genuine earth piranha, posed a difficulty. Finally Kress just threw a haunch of

beef into the huge tank. The piranha could always eat one another if he were detained longer than

expected. They'd done it before. It amused him.

Unfortunately, he was detained much longer than expected this time. When he finally returned, all

the fish were dead. So was the carrion hawk. The shambler had climbed up the belfry and eaten it.

Kress was vexed.

The next day he flew his skimmer to Asgard, a journey of some two hundred kilometers. Asgard was

Baldur's largest city and boasted the oldest and largest starport as well. Kress liked to impress

his friends with animals that were unusual, entertaining, and expensive; Asgard was the place to

buy them.

This time, . though, he had poor luck. Xenopets had closed its doors, t'Etherane the Pet seller

tried to foist another carrion hawk off on him, and Strange Waters offered nothing more exotic

than piranha, glow sharks, and spider squids. Kress had had all those; he wanted something new,

something that would stand out.

Near dusk he found himself walking down Rainbow Boulevard, looking for places he had not

patronized before. So close to the starport, the street was lined by importers' marts. The big

corporate emporiums had impressive long windows, in which rare and costly alien artifacts reposed

on felt cushions against dark drapes that made the interiors of the stores a mystery. Between them

were the junk shops-narrow, nasty little places whose display areas were crammed with all manner

of off world bric-a-brac. Kress tried both kinds of shops, with equal dissatisfaction.

Then he came across a store that was different.

It was very near the port. Kress had never been there before. The shop occupied a small, single-

story building of moderate size, set between a euphoria bar and a temple brothel of

the Secret Sisterhood.- Down this far, Rainbow Boulevard grew tacky. The shop itself was unusual.

Arresting.

The windows were full of mist-now a pale red, now the gray of true fog, now sparkling and golden.

The mist swirled and eddied and glowed faintly from within. Kress glimpsed objects in the window

machines, pieces of art, other things he could not recognize-but he could not get a good look at

any of them. The mists flowed sensuously around them, displaying a bit of first one thing and then

another, then cloaking all. It was intriguing.

As he watched, the mist began to form letters. One word at a time. Kress stood and read.

WO. AND. SHADE. IMPORTERS. ARTIFACTS. ART. LIFE FORMS. AND. MISC.

The letters stopped. Through the fog Kress saw something moving. That was enough for him, that and

the LIFE FORMS in their advertisement. He swept his walking cloak over his shoulder and entered

the store.

Inside, Kress felt disoriented. The interior seemed vast, much larger than he would have guessed

from the relatively modest frontage. It was dimly lit, peaceful. The ceiling was a stars cape,

complete with spiral nebulas, very dark and realistic, very nice. All the counters shone faintly,

to better display the merchandise within. The aisles were carpeted with ground fog. It came almost

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to his knees in places and swirled about his feet as he walked.

"Can I help you?"

She almost seemed to have risen from the fog. Tall and gaunt and pale, she wore a practical gray

jumpsuit and a strange little cap that rested well back on her head.

"Are you Wo or Shade?" Kress asked. "Or only sales help?"

"Jala Wo, ready to serve you," she replied. "Shade does not see customers. We have no sales help."

"You have quite a large establishment," Kress said. "Odd that I have never heard of you before."

"We have only just opened this shop on Baldur," the woman said. "We have franchises on a number of

other worlds, however. What can I sell you? Art, perhaps? You have the look of a collector. We

have some fine Nor T'alush crystal carvings."

"No," Kress said. "I own all the crystal carvings I desire. I came to see about a pet."

"A life form?"

"Yes."

"Alien?"

"Of course."

"We have a mimic in stock. From Celia's World. A clever little simian. Not only will it learn to

speak, but eventually it will mimic your voice, inflections, gestures, even facial expressions. "

"Cute," said Kress. "And common. I have no use for either, Wo. I want something exotic. Unusual.

And not cute. I detest cute animals. At the moment I own a shambler. Imported from Cotho, at no

mean expense. From time to

time I feed him a litter of unwanted kittens. That is what I think of cute. Do I make myself

understood?"

Wo smiled enigmatically. "Have you ever owned an animal that worshipped you?" she asked.

Kress grinned. "Oh, now and again. But I don't require worship, Wo. Just entertainment."

"You misunderstand me," Wo said, still wearing her strange smile. "I meant worship literally."

"What are you talking about?"

"I think I have just the thing for you," Wo said. "Follow me."

She led him between the radiant counters and down a long, fog-shrouded aisle beneath false

starlight. They passed through a wall of mist into another section of the store, then stopped in

front of a large plastic tank. An aquarium, Kress thought.

Wo beckoned. He stepped closer and saw that he was wrong. It was a terrarium. Within lay a

miniature desert about two meters square. Pale sand tinted scarlet by wan red light. Rocks: basalt

and quartz and granite. In each corner of the tank stood a castle.

Kress blinked and peered and corrected himself; actually, there were only three castles standing.

The fourth leaned, a crumbled, broken ruin. The three others were crude but intact, carved of

stone and sand. Over their battlements and through their rounded porticoes tiny creatures climbed

and scrambled. Kress pressed his face against the plastic.

"Insects?" he asked.

"No," Wo replied. "A much more complex life form. More intelligent as well. Smarter than your

shambler by a considerable amount. They are called sandkings."

"Insects," Kress said, drawing back from the tank. "I don't care how complex they are." He

frowned. "And kindly don't try to gull me with this talk of intelligence. These things are far too

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small to have anything but the most rudimentary brains."

"They share hive minds," Wo said. "Castle minds, in this case. There are only three organisms in

the tank, actually. The fourth died. You see how her castle has fallen."

Kress looked back at the tank. "Hive minds, eh? Interesting." He frowned again. "Still, it is only

an oversized ant farm. I'd hoped for something better."

"They fight wars."

"Wars? Hmmm." Kress looked again.

"Note the colors, if you will," Wo said. She pointed to the creatures that swarmed over the

nearest castle. One was scrabbling at the tank wall. Kress studied it. To his eyes, it still

looked like an insect. Barely as long as his fingernail, six-limbed, with six tiny eyes set all

around its body. A wicked set of mandibles clacked visibly, while two long, fine antennae wove

patterns in the air. Antennae, mandibles, eyes, and legs were sooty black, but the dominant color

was the burnt orange of its armor plating. "It's an insect," Kress repeated.

"It is not an insect," Wo insisted calmly.

"The armored exoskeleton is shed when the sandkings grows larger. If it grows larger. In a tank

this size, it won't." She took Kress by the elbow and led him around the tank to the next castle.

"Look at the colors here."

He did. They were different. Here the sandkings had bright red armor; antennae, mandibles, eyes,

and legs were yellow. Kress glanced across the tank. The denizens of the third live castle were

off-white, with red trim. "Hmmm," he said.

"They war, as I said," Wo told him. "They even have truces and alliances. It was an alliance that

destroyed the fourth castle in this tank. The blacks were becoming too numerous, and so the others

joined forces to destroy them."

Kress remained unconvinced. "Amusing, no doubt. But insects fight wars, too."

"Insects do not worship," Wo said.

"Eh?"

Wo smiled and pointed at the castle. Kress stared. A face had been carved into the wall of the

higher tower. He recognized it. It was Jala Wo's face. "How . . .?"

"I projected a hologram of my face into the tank, then kept it there for a few days. The face of

god, you see? I feed them. I am always close. The sandkings have a rudimentary psionic sense.

Proximity telepathy. They sense me and worship me by using my face to decorate their buildings.

All the castles have them, see." They did.

On the castle, the face of Jala Wo was serene,

peaceful, and very lifelike. Kress marveled at the workmanship. "How do they do it?"

"The foremost legs double as arms. They even have fingers of a sort, three small, flexible

tendrils. And they cooperate well, both in building and in battle. Remember, all the mobiles of

one color share a single mind."

"Tell me more," Kress requested.

Wo smiled. "The maw lives in the castle. Maw is my name for her-a pun, if you will. The thing is

mother and stomach both. Female, large as your fist, immobile. Actually, sandking is a bit of a

misnomer. The mobiles are peasants and warriors. The real ruler is a queen. But that analogy is

faulty as well. Considered as a whole, each castle is a single hermaphroditic creature."

"What do they eat?"

"The mobiles eat pap, predigested food obtained inside the castle. They get it from the maw after

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Martin, George R.R. - The Sandkings

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